


Isolated Above, Connected Below

by stadensljus



Category: Sense8 (TV), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, F/M, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Other, Psychic Bond, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stadensljus/pseuds/stadensljus
Summary: There is no such thing as distance, not even in the vast infinity of the universe, when you are this connected to someone. Their hopes and dreams and knowledge and skills are yours, now.It makes things easier and harder all at once. It may just be the key to taking down Zarkon for real.(Or: Sensates In Space.)





	1. Chapter 1

The memories, even as they start to slide back into place, are just glimpses, half-remembered, of a life that doesn't feel like his. Splintered, painful, terrifying.

Long fingers, reaching down deep inside his shoulder, his chest, his head. Violation.

Delighted cackling, curious hums, and the sound of his own pained grunts.

But also, during a quiet moment-

The bright, wide eyes of a small alien peeking over the edge of the operating table. Hands, one, two... three? grasping his shoulder gently. The hint of what might be a smile pulling at the corners of the eyes in that unfamiliar face.

"I found you," says the stranger quietly, in a lightly accented voice that seems far too young for a place like this. "Finally."

Shiro instinctively flinches back. Then he squares his jaw and raises his chin, meets the eyes of whatever is going to happen to him next. Instead, he gets a gentle pat to the forehead.

"In eighty-eight-point-two percent of your futures, you escape with the majority of yourself intact," murmurs the stranger. "I'm sorry, but the arm was always a loss."

The sound of booted heels thumping on the ground outside prompt a full-body shiver from the stranger, who takes one more glance at Shiro's face. "Not yet, not yet. But I promise, you're going to be amazing."

It scurries away, leaving spots of warmth slowly cooling on Shiro's shoulder. Haggar steps inside just a few seconds after the nearly inaudible clang of a hatch or cabinet door. And Shiro nearly forgets about his strange visitor not long after that.

* * *

 ...and then it happens again.

"Shhhhhh," the stranger hisses softly. Something gently nudges at Shiro's lips. Shiro tenses, blinking back the dark spots in his vision long enough to recall his visitor, and then opens his mouth. The taste of cool water as it slides down his battered throat is enough to make him want to sob.

The stranger fills the silence while Shiro drinks. It pets his hair in some small attempt at comfort as it speaks. "Your arm looks great. She's almost done. In all but a few of the possible realities, you're going to have excellent functionality."

Then the hand running through Shiro's hair slows, and stops. "I thought I was ready, but I'm scared. Why am I scared? My logic is sound. The likelihood of- of success is high. Every other part of me should survive for quite a while, even th-" The hand twitches. The stranger takes in one deep breath, then two.

"I'll be back," it promises, then the weight of the cup leaves Shiro's lips, and he is alone again.

* * *

 At one point, Shiro is told he needs to rest in order to recalibrate some of the sensors in his new arm. They will run some tests tomorrow. They have even turned the lights off in the lab, a mercy that has never before been granted to him.

He is almost asleep when he hears the nearly-inaudible thunk that indicates the stranger is entering the room from whatever small hideaway it has found. He strains his ears to hear the soft patter of feet on the floor as it makes its way towards him.

"Just me," the stranger whispers.

Lifting his head as far as the straps will let him, Shiro can see the small dark shape levering itself up onto the operating table. Slowly the stranger curls itself up next to Shiro's legs. It's so warm, he can't help but relax.

Just before he drifts off, he hears the stranger speak one last time, "take care of them for me, please?"

He is already too deep to respond.

* * *

 Shiro dreams he has eight arms and is drowning in the multitude of possibilities of the universe as they stretch farther, farther, farther out into the distance.

Then the dream flickers, and he is floating, he is stomping, he is running. He is back at the Garrison, listening to Iverson shout.

And the shouting rouses him back to consciousness, because it is not just coming from his dreams, it is coming from outside the lab. He jiggles his knee under the restraints to lightly nudge his sleeping companion, who immediately cranes its neck up and blinks blearily at him.

"Y'need t'go," he chokes out, then coughs.

The stranger looks deeply at him for a second, as though it's looking straight through him. It glances at the door, seems to run a few mental calculations, and then its shoulders hunch. "It's time." One of its many hands wraps around Shiro's ankle and gives a slight squeeze.

Shiro shakes his head, nudges the stranger again, but all he gets in return is another squeeze. "Go," Shiro whines, but the stranger shakes its head.

"Ninety-seven percent probability, this is the highest we'll get. Stay strong," it replies, eyes downcast, and Shiro can't tell if the last part is directed at him or at itself.

The door slides open and Haggar creeps in, and Shiro's heart sinks as the stranger holds up its arms in surrender. She stops mid-stride and her eyes widen. "Guards!"

Shiro's pulse is pounding in his ears as Galra soldiers roughly grab the stranger, all eight upper limbs splayed and vulnerable. "Stowaway! Thief! Where were you hiding? What have you done?" Haggar rants.

The last Shiro sees of his stranger are two wide, panicked, sad eyes craning to see him as it is dragged away.

After that, for what seems like an eternity, he is back to the blurry sedation he has come to find familiar. Snatches of conversations he can't quite grasp float by.

"Some kind of quintessential neural network? I wonder if..."

"Displacing the core into the Champion could..."

"...method of control?"

"...dead, in any case. Might as well be of some use to us."

At some point, heat and pain slice through the fog. Shiro struggles, muscles straining against the straps holding him in place, until another needle slides its way into his bloodstream and he's falling down, down down...


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro's memories of his time in the hands of the enemy are shattered beyond recognition. When he tries to think too hard on the pieces that remain - small hands, a cool drink of water, pain, throwing a punch, terror for his life, pink lines running down a smirking purple face - his head starts to hurt. So he redirects his thoughts, because now is more important.

_Now_ is when they - a group of young Garrison cadets and one escaped amnesiac pilot with a new bionic arm - try to take down that alien ship hovering near Earth using this blue robotic lion they found in the desert. Now is, honestly, weirder than any science fiction movie Shiro's ever seen. So rolling with the punches takes actual focus, actual choice.

Then they're running with their tail between their legs, out and out and out of the solar system, when the lion gives them an escape. A wormhole. And together, they make the only decision they can. (Part of Shiro is scared, but part of Shiro is singing of belonging and fate and future and he doesn't know why.)

Coming out of the spiraling indigo wormhole and into the unknown is rough for everyone. Something about it appears to hit Hunk and Lance the hardest, with Shiro not far behind, and before his brain boots back up he's doubled over and trying hard not to hurl.

"Aw, man," Lance complains, sounding strained. "Hunk, you've infected me with your carsickness! You fiend!"

"Not... my fault..." Hunk breathes a deep slow breath out. From Shiro's perspective crouched on the floor, Hunk looks white-knuckled and more than a little green. Then, abruptly, he turns and vomits into the corner. Shiro feels his own pulse pound and his head spin.

Pidge adjusts his glasses as he looks over his shoulder at the others huddled in the cabin. "Dude, it was hella intense but it wasn't _that_ bad."

"Speak for yourself," Lance retorts, and then wipes his sweaty palms on his pants before grabbing the controls again.

The nausea is starting to abate, so Shiro dares a glance up at the darkness of space above them. Something about the stars seems instinctively strange, and he searches for his familiar reference points for astronavigation but-

"I don't recognize any of these constellations," he admits, "we must be a long, long way from Earth."

(How long has it been, really, since he was last on Earth for more than a few flighty, fear-drenched hours? He carefully does not think.)

Lance says the lion is talking to him. If Shiro strains hard to sense what Lance claims he feels, there is a slight - imagined? - tugging in his chest, leading them down, down into the towering castle. It grows impossibly large as they approach, and despite the anxiety crawling in his chest Shiro takes a moment to truly appreciate the shining organic architecture. It has to hold technology beyond the scope of human understanding.

As they go to land in front of the towering crystalline door there is a whisper in his ear, young and indistinct and somehow familiar: _"It's beautiful. I knew it would be."_

He whirls, but there is nothing there.

When he turns back around, all three of his companions are staring at him blankly. "Sorry. I thought... I thought I heard something," he says lamely.

The others all share a glance and shrug. Pidge's gaze lingers longer than the rest.

They make their way into the castle. They wake up the former inhabitants: an alien princess, ten thousand years old and looking all of twenty. Her royal advisor Coran, who exchanges a few lively fake-out jabs with Lance. It all seems so much like some weird anime space opera that Shiro resists the urge to pinch himself. Until, in the middle of Princess Allura's speech-

A flash of a memory, of a face lit by purple. Fear that sends a cold shiver down his spine. But it flits away before he can fully grasp it. "Zarkon?" He repeats.

He remembers. Not much, but he remembers... being a prisoner. He remembers desperation. Fighting with fear clogging his throat. And one particular thought rises to the surface about something, something Zarkon wants.

Voltron.

Which leads to the start of their quest, for real.

Allura speaks so confidently as she bestows command of the Black Lion to Shiro. As much as it might seem like a gift, almost, an enormous weight settles across his shoulders at her words. He doesn't feel ready, not when memories of torture are waiting for him to close his eyes, not when parts of him are still achingly missing and may never come back.

But the only other options, Hunk or Lance or, hell, _especially_ Pidge, are painfully young. None of them are even remotely prepared for the things they will have to do if they have a hope of succeeding. He stares evenly at the hologram of his Lion, listening to the rest of the team as they're assigned their Lions based on their personalities. Hunk gets the sturdy Yellow Lion. Pidge gets inquisitive Green. Everyone seems to fit from what little he knows of each of them, except, well.

"...now, the Red Lion," Allura starts, then hesitates. "I am unable to locate as of yet. This castle has been sitting around for ten thousand years, so it might need some work. At least for now, it seems we have one Lion for each Paladin."

"And what if we can't find the Red Lion, or a Paladin for it?" Shiro has to ask.

Allura bites a lip and shares a look with Coran. He twirls a finger around his moustache in thought.

"I..." she trails off.

Coran says hesitantly, "we might have reason to believe she can, er, trick your Lions into thinking all of them are there, enough to free the Black Lion and allow you to form Voltron. In that case, your giant space robot might be a tad unbalanced, and it'll take a lot of her focus, but I think it might just be possible." Then he grins from ear to ear and slaps Shiro on the back. "Just be thankful that it wasn't the Black Lion! Voltron can go around without an arm just fine, but not a head!"

A h... okay. Shiro is a head. On the giant space robot.

Pidge perks up next to him. "You're going to try hacking the Lions? I bet I can help with that!" His excitement is palpable; at least someone is having fun, Shiro supposes.

* * *

Lance and Hunk are sent to one planet to pick up the Yellow Lion, while Shiro and Pidge are sent to pick up Green on another. The planet in question is gorgeous; a sprawling, lively jungle filled with chirping critters, bright sunlight filtering in over the glittering river.

Their strange, silent new alien friend paddles them down, presumably towards the Green Lion. Pidge is smiling, reaching down and letting his fingertips skim the surface of the sparkling water. This is a peaceful place filled with vibrant wildlife and it's utterly fascinating.

It's a moment where everything is going right, so of course it goes wrong.

In a fraction of an instant, Shiro's no longer in the canoe but in a darkened ship speeding through space, the sound of laser fire surrounding him, shaking the vehicle. There is a thrill of excitement tingling in his fingers and he's laughing in exhilaration.

"Guess they found our goodbye present, eh?" An unfamiliar alien man in the pilot's seat turns back to face Shiro and winks-

And then he's back in the canoe and the light feels blinding. He gasps, heart pounding, reaching for the sides to steady himself, and the shifting of weight is enough to unsteady the boat. Pidge shrieks as their furry guide nearly falls overboard. "What the heck was that?!"

Shiro breathes deeply. "I.... I don't know," he admits. "I- I've been having these things I think are flashbacks, but that just now, that was. That was something else." Something far too intense and all-encompassing and real. "I'm sorry," he says to their guide, who lets out what Shiro hopes is a forgiving noise.

Pidge looks like he wants to say something but doesn't know what. He opens his mouth, then closes it, a frown settling on his face.

Shiro swallows his fear because he has to be strong for these kids. What would an adult say right now? Probably something encouraging.

* * *

They have all the pieces but Red and Black now.

With the imminent arrival of one of Zarkon's commanders, they're running out of time. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance land their Lions in formation outside of what Allura says is the Black Lion's hangar. Shiro wishes he could feel something the way that the others have, but there's no yearning guide in his heart, no sudden warmth of completeness.

Allura stands where the Red Lion should be and squares her shoulders. "Alright," she says, "let us try."

The eyes of the Green Lion begin to glow. The Blue and Yellow Lions are not far behind. Allura hesitates, grits her teeth, and after a moment Shiro can see a hazy red aura start to flicker around her. It grows until it's nearly as big as the Green Lion, and Shiro can start to see wispy claws and a long, swishing tail in it.

The door to the hangar begins to raise.

The Black Lion comes to life slowly, regally, pulling itself up to its full height and roaring. Shiro can feel it down to his bones, it's so deep, and there is something - something assessing him, pulling him apart piece by piece and carefully replacing each bit where it was found. He holds his breath.

And there, there in his chest, in his head, it's cold and solid and decisive and _finally there._

"Hello," he says softly, and the Black Lion bows its head to allow him entry.

After the first few steps, he feels something brush by him, invisible and almost intangible, and a childlike laugh rings through the air. _"Come on! I will race you!"_ It takes him a moment to place it as that same voice he'd heard in Blue. God, that felt like years ago, even though it was just this morning.

There's no one there. He didn't hear anything. He's hallucinating, falling into madness in strange fits and spurts.

Not now. Not when he's needed. Shiro shakes himself, and Coran is broadcasting a rallying cry because Sendak's here, and so he goes - up, up, and into the sky, his Lion a comforting rumble around him.

* * *

The battle is hopeless, but Shiro has clawed his way out of worse before, and he refuses to let this be the end. He _refuses._ He tells his team so.

As one, the Lions roar, and for a moment all he is is a streak of light soaring through the universe. Then he can feel it: the warm, shining ocean of Lance, so shallow but so very, very deep, the lightning-sharpness of Pidge, and the warmth and concern that says Hunk Hunk Hunk. Beyond that, he can even distantly feel their Lions, ageless and strong.

For a few heartbeats he forgets who he is. He isn't Shiro, he's something beyond that, one colossal being with the bodies of four humans and four gigantic Lions, and after another second he feels even more. There are people across the whole universe that are his. Are theirs. And they feel him, and startle, and at least one cries out in alarm.

Then something cool and hard wraps around him and pulls him away with a protective growl, shrinks him until his awareness is nearly just his own two hands on the controls. He can still feel the other Paladins, but the effect is muted and distant. Somehow, the loss is painful.

"What... the hell... was that??" Hunk cries.

Shiro pulls in a ragged breath to reply.

"Guys?" Pidge cuts in, "we did it! We formed Voltron!"

There is a pause where Shiro can feel both Lance and Hunk acknowledge what just happened and consciously decide to put it behind them for now so they can celebrate their success. Lance sticks his arms in the air. "Aw yeah!"

Hunk marvels at being a leg.

Slowly, the giant robot that is Voltron starts to move. Allura was right, it is unbalanced without the Red Lion as an arm, but slowly Shiro's senses extend from the head to the feet and it feels like his own hands on the controls are secondary. He's got this.

No, he thinks, feeling Hunk and Lance steadying him from below, they've got this. Together.

"Guys, let's get that cannon!"

* * *

They win. (Of course they do. Voltron is the universe's greatest weapon. Once they came together, was there really any doubt?)

He's Shiro-shaped again, stuffed back in his body, but he feels too big for it now. Everything feels just a tad too much, the sun is too bright and the armor prickles at his skin and his limbs are too heavy.

(He's tired, which is why he's imagining the deep sea of Lance lapping at his ankles, cooling him and exciting him all at once. He's tired, which is why he's imagining Hunk's overwhelming worry and relief eating at his fingertips. He's tired, and his imagination's on overload.)

Allura and Coran are waiting for them as they climb out of their Lions and stare out over the Castle and the planet beyond. It's the only kind of homecoming they'll get 'til this is over.

Defenders of the universe, huh? It's got a nice ring to it.

(He's terrified.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random reason to watch sense8: If you're a language nerd you might be interested in how, for the characters that aren't actually speaking English (which is a lot of them), [they speak in English translations of their native languages.](http://noprincenorape.tumblr.com/post/121586764654/theres-something-about-sense8-that-you-will-only) [No spoilers in link].


	3. Chapter 3

Hunk's been-

Hunk's been feeling _weird_ lately.

It's not just the whole, shoved-across-the-universe-and-now-they're-like-superheroes stuff. Which is bad enough on it's own, don't get him wrong. But he's been having-

It's nothing. It's gotta be nothing.

(Every so often today, ever since The Wormhole, he's been getting weird flashes? Of places and people he's never seen before? And weird, weird waves of feelings that he knows somehow aren't his, but also are his? Uh.

But it's nothing. Probably just a side effect of... everything. Long day. He's hallucinated before, once, when his little sister gave him too much cold medicine on accident. This is a lot like that, right?

Right.)

They're all sweaty and gross, so before they plop down for the night everybody decides to shower. It's the first of many new experiences, as Hunk has seen many different kinds of showers but nothing like this alien shower with alien controls. He hates when he can't figure out stupid shower controls.

After a ridiculous amount of time and what amounts to rocket science, and clothed in soft sleep pants that may have been ancient Altean ceremonial dress but he is going to wear to bed because they feel nice, Hunk watches his door slide open under the sensitive touch of his palm to the sensor. He blinks tiredly, rubbing his hands down the entire length of his face as he yawns.

He flops his whole weight down on the bed - it bounces him lightly. Wow, springy. But as he sprawls out, the back of one hand resting on his forehead, staring at the ceiling... he knows he won't be able to sleep. His skin is crawling like he's covered in ants. So much has happened today, he can barely even process it. He blinks. He blinks again.

This is their new home now, apparently. It's so... white and smooth and empty. And big. He wonders if Lance's ears are ringing from the silence; Lance's family is so huge, their house can't fit everyone, and to go from that to this space mansion must be...

(He tries not to think of his own family, getting the news that he, what? Died? In a training accident or something?)

_I'm trying not to think about it too,_ he imagines Lance saying in his head. _Just pretend like this is a vacation, or a long study abroad, yeah, we miss our families but it's not forever, right? It can't be._

"Yeah, Lance, sure," he says to the imaginary presence in his head, not particularly heartened. This room is ten-thousand-years musty and empty and not his, not really, so he pulls on a shirt and decides to go clear his head a bit. Some fresh air, maybe.

It was a good choice, he thinks, when he steps out onto a nearby balcony and breathes. The breeze is cool and a little bit humid and definitely nothing like the eternal dry heat of the desert. As Hunk stretches out on the balcony, swinging his feet off the edge, he leans to look up. The sky is bathed orange-green in the embers of the dying sun.

_What is all of this?_ Murmurs a voice from right beside him.

With a startled shriek, Hunk scrambles to his feet. He brings both of his fists into what he imagines is a defensive position.

There's no one around.

"H-huh? What was that?" He says to thin air. When there's no response, he adds, "I'll have you know I'm a fully trained fry cook, so you- you don't want to mess with me!" Aliens wouldn't know what a fry cook is, he reasons, so that threat sounds more... well, threatening. Than it is. Yeah.

_Mess with you?_ The voice inquires. Now that he's expecting it, he hears the softness in it. It's a girl's voice.

He folds his arms. "Yeah, y'know? No funny stuff. Where are you?" He turns all the way around, full 360, but there is definitely no one around to be speaking at all. Especially no girls.

_I don't think I understand. I don't know where I am either, if I'm being honest. May I look back up again, though?_

Look up? Instinctively, he cranes his neck back up at the sky.

_Oh,_ the voice sighs. _Beautiful. How are there so many colors?_

Hunk raises his eyebrows and points despite himself. "...you mean, from the sunset?" It's a nice view if he's being honest, but he's seen prettier. Back home.

There is a breathless laugh from the voice, a bit of euphoria that hovers in his chest and makes him feel like he's floating. _Yes! The sunset! Oh, I have always wanted to see the sky._

That startles a concerned chuckle out of him. What the hell. "Where have you been living, huh? Under a rock?"

_Exactly!_ The voice sighs, and there is a sudden twist in Hunk's chest and he's no longer on the balcony. It's musty and the smells of acrid sweat and natural gases fill up his lungs. He blinks in the sudden darkness. But it's not quite darkness, not precisely, everything is just muted and a bit indistinct.

"This is my home," his lips speak, but the voice that comes out rumbles oddly in his chest because it's not a he it's a her, it's not Hunk it's her. The voice. He can feel her presence enveloping him, rock-solid warmth and a gentle curiosity.

Hunk is officially reaching the point of panic. If he had a physical body he'd be pinwheeling away in alarm, shrieking to high heaven. What the hell??? He can feel the way her heart flutters, pulse pounding in her neck, and she hesitantly places a hand over her chest. Then another, and now she is cradling herself but Hunk feels like the one being hugged.

"Do not be alarmed, soft one," she says quietly. "I know this is strange. When we were on your high place, I was startled too. But I- I don't want to hurt you. I don't think I can. And you don't want to hurt me either, I know that somehow."

Hunk tries to breathe deeply, to bolster himself, but he can't stop the steady pull of her lungs. She wanders her eyes over the smoothened walls of the tunnel where she's currently sitting, tracing the cracks and juts of the rocks. Mapping them idly, waiting for him to calm down. He's fluttering inside her like a butterfly in a birdcage. A beat, two, three, twenty, five minutes. And he inevitably does calm, because it's hard to stay panicked when he's nestled in this rock-steady sea of her. The hug... helps.

It starts to be not-so-weird. It _should_ be weird, but it’s not. That freaks out Hunk a lot more than being stuck in someone else’s body, oddly enough.

She’s patient. He feels her breathe. Finally, he collects himself. Takes in what she's seeing.

It's dark and clearly underground. The pressure in her ears and against her skin makes him think it's far underground.

_You really live down here?_ Hunk thinks at her, and now that he’s decided he’s all in for whatever this is, he's curious enough to want to look around. Somehow she seems to know, and she turns her head to the left and lets him get a good look at the caverns and tunnels. They are secreted away in a small corner ledge, a place where the acoustics thankfully won't carry their one-sided conversation.

Down in the cavern, Hunk sees movement, flickering and strange, and without thinking he pushes to lean forward to get a better look. The body he's inhabiting tenses, suddenly, and then there is give and he feels it lean forward with his thoughts - arms too long and heavy, body balanced differently, the sensation so alien that he startles back into the darkness of her brain again.

_Sorry,_ he immediately apologizes. _I didn't realize I could do that._

"I understand. My world must be as unfamiliar to you as yours is to me," she assures him softly, with a smile. "Here," and her eyes focus and adjust and the shapes become more distinct, settling down into thick, long-limbed rock-like aliens.

_Whoa,_ Hunk whispers, _is that- do they look like you? Is that what you look like?_ His fascination is genuine.

The edges of her mouth twitch up. "Yes, I look much like that." She pauses, and she feels nervous, and Hunk sends something that he knows is less a thought and more of a probe. She takes a breath. "...can we go back to the high place?"

_I dunno, I really hope so,_ he admits, _but we can try._

He thinks of his body, of the fleshiness of it, the wideness in his shoulders and shortness of his arms. The way Arus glows in the light of the sunset, the air on his skin, and there is a moment of genuinely confusing double-vision where he is both sitting on a ledge underground and high above the alien city, earth and sky blending into something incomprehensible.

Then he's taking a deep breath in the cool evening air. He can hear birds... bird-like animals, anyways, chirping their good-night chirps. Everything is back to the way it should be. And, having been in a somewhat well-rested body just scant seconds before, Hunk suddenly realizes how tired and achey he really is.

"Hello?" he says, speaking at the sky. "Did you make it? Rock-lady, are you there?"

She fills up his chest and laughs. _Rock-lady? I am Shay._

"Well, I didn't know your name. Hey," he taps a finger over his heart. "I'm Hunk. I probably should have said that earlier, y'know, but I was kind of busy freaking out over whatever this random body-snatching stuff is. It's my first day in space, so I'm really out of my comfort zone here. Is this a your-species sort of thing, or what?"

There is something that feels like a shrug. _I'm sorry, but I don't think it's normal for my kind. I had guessed it was something common to your species, actually._

"Wow, okay. Maybe it's... a space thing. You've seriously never had anything like this happen before?"

_No,_ she says, and then with a sense of brutal honesty, _but I like it._

Without intending to, he feels a small smile growing on his face. "I think I need a break from space shenanigans for a while, you have absolutely no idea how rough today was for me, but I guess compared to lasers, space fighting, and almost dying, this wasn't too bad."

He feels her laugh and knows she doesn't understand everything he just said but she understands enough. Understands him. Like he understands her.

(This thing between them, it feels like coming home, like they're a part of each other, like they _are_ each other, and he can't be terrified or suspicious or wary when she's so _happy.)_

They stretch out on the balcony, watching the sky run through its evening colors, listening to the trill of Arusian insects out in the land below. When one bird-like thing plops itself down on the railing, all red-gold and soft looking in the fading light, Shay's delighted gasp makes him grin. When it hops and then flies off, Hunk leans over the edge to watch it go just to feel her presence flutter with delight at the wide expanse of ground below.

This feeling of mutual fascination and discovery, this was kind of what he'd hoped space would be. 

At some point the adrenaline of the day finally, finally wears off. He's dropping fast. It hits him with the weight of a speeding train. "Shay," he murmurs, and yawns. "Well, Shay, it was nice meeting ya but I really need to get some shut-eye. So, sorry to cut off your favorite channel here, but I'm off to bed." He pushes himself to his feet with great effort.

She sends him back warmththankfulnessacceptance, and he can feel it as she slowly drifts back to what Hunk can only presume is herself. 

If he focuses, he can still get little blips of feedback from her, wherever she is, but only if he focuses. This is... probably something he should go and tell Coran about, but on the other hand his bed is calling him now. And Shay, she didn't feel evil. She felt lost and curious and sweet.

Yeah, he'll probably say something tomorrow, but no need to wake up anybody tonig...

(He barely makes it to bed before he's out like a light.)

* * *

 Lance's nighttime skin care routine is not going to get interrupted by accidentally getting stranded in space and being recruited to fight a millennia-long intergalactic war, dammit! He's not going to get caught dead fighting evil alien warlords while covered in acne, no sir. The victory pictures need to show what an airbrushed supermodel Lance really is.

He makes a face in the mirror. This is going to be his 'oh no, you really don't need to have a parade in my honor, thank you so much! Can the leading float be a big version of my head?' face.

Then he winks and grins widely. 'Oh no, no ma'am, this was all done in the line of duty, just brave Voltron Paladins doing what little we can to secure the freedom of the universe.' He ducks his head, wipes off his cheeks with a towel, then goes to wash his hands, 'It's all in the line of duty, buuuuut repayment for your daring rescue _can_ be made in kisses-' he turns back up to the mirror and purses his lips in a smooch.

Then he opens his eyes and shrieks.

Lance is purple! Purple and _furry!_ What went wrong with his skincare routine? What went horribly, unthinkably wrong?

As he brings shaking hands up to investigate his horribly disfigured face, he starts hyperventilating. Fuck. And what the hell, his purple hands have claws??? No. No no no.

"What the hell-" he starts to say, but suddenly his body moves without him. Takes a breath. Opens its mouth-

"What the flarking quiznak?" It says.

"What are you doing in my body," Lance says, terrified.

"What am I- What are _you_ doing in _my_ body?!" Cries...the body...

Lance waves his arms. "Come on, I was here first!"

"No you weren't!"

"Was too!"

The body growls, and it reverberates through Lance's chest, all the way to his fingertips, and it's weird. "Get out."

_"You_ get ou-" Lance stops, then, because man that felt totally anatomically impossible, and takes a second look in the mirror. And freezes. Because that face, there's more there than just the fur, it's the bone structure. He knows his bone structure like the back of his hand. No amount of facial cream and weird hair growth could change the shape of the face... which means, "I'm in your body!" Shit. Shit.

There is a sudden wave of frustration and fear that don't feel like they come from Lance, but which makes Lance's usual bundle of energy just run haywire, and now everything feels prickly like hairs standing on end. The hands move, gripping the sides of the sink, which Lance now realizes is a totally different sink with a horrifying lack of skincare tools or even shampoo for that thick fur. The face stares at itself in the mirror and bares fangs, holy crap. "Get... _out!"_

"Jeez!" Lance replies, leaning away from the sink. "I- I would if I could, dickwad, but not sure how I got here, s-so unless you can work more of your magic mojo to get me back..."

"I didn't do this!"

"Well, I didn't either! I'm just a normal human from Earth, no magic space powers here!" He waves the arms. "You're the one that's all fuzzy and purple and weird, buddy."

The body punches itself in the shoulder.

_"Hey!"_ Lance yelps despite himself, and drops his towel as he does. One of his lotion bottles clatters into the sink. He pauses and stares uncomprehendingly for a moment as it rolls around and around near the drain. Then he looks up nervously into the mirror...

His beautiful face! He reaches up instinctively to caress his smooth, golden cheeks- wait, no! Fingers are too oily for that!

Suddenly, today has just been too long. He lets his whole body sag. Whatever... whatever that was, it had to have been just a hallucination brought on by weird space gases and too much wormhole stuff and-

He sticks out his tongue at his reflection. "Dickwad," he mutters. Then finishes drying his hands.

* * *

 Keithrak feels the presence leave and it's the strangest thing he's ever experienced in his _life._ Suddenly his head and his heart feel cavernously, achingly empty. But good riddance. That was terrifying. And whatever that presence was, it was a jerk.

He stares at his shoulder. "Ouch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random reason to watch Sense8: It is almost entirely filmed on-location. The first season was filmed in nine cities in eight countries: Chicago, San Francisco, London, Berlin, Seoul, Reykjavík, Mexico City, Nairobi and Mumbai.


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro startles mid-pushup as the alarm wails. Some kind of emergency? He huffs as he pushes himself to his feet and is about to book it out the door when he realizes Lance is still asleep. Wearing headphones?

"Lance!" He calls, "Wake up, Voltron's needed!" He goes to shake Lance when-

He's alone in his room, he's always been alone in his room, Lance is nowhere near here.

It turns out to be a training drill anyways, and before Shiro can turn and ask Lance something nonsensical like 'did you wake up when I spoke to you from behind a closed door way down the hall this morning while you were wearing headphones and deep in REM?' the Paladins depart, grumbling, to go find some breakfast.

* * *

Keithrak stomps down the hallways, accidentally timing every thomp of his boots with the blaring of the alarm that only he can hear. Because it’s in his head. Stupid. Stupid. All of this is so stupid.

When he arrives at his station, he salutes and bows only as low as he absolutely has to. The load of dirty laundry is plopped into his arms so quickly that he nearly drops it. Then he's shoved forward.

They're all assholes. Everyone on this entire ship, from Zarkon to the lowest floor-scrubber, is an asshole.

(Keith is including himself in this, you understand. He is an all-inclusive asshole identifier.)

And now it's back to the mindless drudgery work that makes his days just so exciting. Nothing is more intellectually stimulating than sorting laundry by color and texture and then pressing the appropriate buttons on the cleaners. And he's going to be doing this for vargas.

He pokes the power button and feels the machine rumble to life under his fingertips just as someone speaks softly, in his ears, _I knew there were more of us!_

"Gah!" He flinches, and just barely avoids giving his elbow a mean bruise on the machine. He glares at everyone looking at him weirdly and then hisses quietly to himself, "What the hell? You again?"

A foreign feeling of amusement prickles. _I can assure you that I have never spoken with you before. You must be thinking of someone else in our bond_. It's a feminine voice this time, now that he knows to listen.

"Our-" he's getting too loud. D'ast. He holds up a very rude hand gesture to the few drudgers giving him those amused looks. Then mouths, "our what?"

In response, he can feel a nudging somewhere in his chest. And then... he can feel her inside of him, inside his mind, rock-solid and innocently curious. Discovering this connection is bringing her a strange sort of joy. Keith can't relate.

"Wow. Invasive. Get out," he says, but he finds he only half-means it. That empty aching hole that has been his chest since that ridiculous asshole popped into his head last night is finally starting to fill again. And after what feels like decapheebs of endless drudge work, this is at least something new. Something to put on his wall.

 _You don't really want me to_ , she observes with a soft happy glow. He's not going to smile while shoving dirty laundry in a hole just because a thing in his head is feeling happy and it’s making him feel happy for some unfathomable reason. No, that would be ridiculous. He frowns harder.

"You're clearly imagining things. And what exactly is... this?"

 _The quintant before this one, I met another of us. A being named Hunk. He showed me the sky._ She pushes a picture at him of a green-gold sunset and a feeling of pure delight and companionship (and it doesn’t make him painfully ache for something he’s never felt, no sir). _After that, I became curious, because I have seen pieces of lives outside of him and myself. I felt as though I had more connections than just Hunk, that we were... bigger. I've been trying to push myself out all morning, to connect with any others. You are the first I've found._

Toss. Press. Slam the lid. "So why me?" He has to ask.

 _I think I had to find a kindred spirit. That seems to be the point of connection. The Galra make you work for them, correct?_ She asks. Keith chances a glance over at his supervisors. Bannok is picking his nose and Namek is reading what appears to be porn and is barely bothering to hide it underneath the table.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Why?"

 _Because I think you and I are not so different._ For a scant few ticks, Keith is looking through what have to be her eyes, seeing a line of hulking gray beings working to dig away at something glowing blue. It's a mine. Then her vision moves, and he sees the Galra overseers scowling down from a high vantage point.

Keith has never seen a Balmera before, but he recognizes those crystals. _You're Balmeran?_

"Yes," she whispers. He can feel the way the muscles strain in her shoulders as she works. Her smooth strokes with her tool morph into Keith slamming down another handful of white silks into a machine, and he's fully back in the ship now. Some part of him that he absolutely won't acknowledge is sad. Because even dirty mines are new, are different, are not here.

She seems to sense it though. Suddenly he's being fed flashes of emotions he knows are hers - frustration at the Galra, at the injustices happening around her, and a longing to see the sky and feel the open air and be anywhere but here in the mines. _See,_ she says, _you and I are the same._ Their longing to escape starts to merge, to grow and feed on itself until it's pounding in his chest and in his wrists and his temples are throbbing and he's halfway to turning on his heels and running out the door, screw the supervisors, screw the soldiers out in the hall-

She withdraws until she's just a wisp in his mind, barely a thought, and he can feel her wince. _Sorry,_ she says.

He doesn't respond. Just reaches for the next couple of silks and slams them down. Slams a few more down. Smacks the buttons. Then he sighs. "Listen, can you come find me, uh, after work maybe? Tell me what you've figured out about, about the bond?" This is definitely going on his wall. "About eight vargas from now, I guess."

Her presence gives him the mental equivalent of a comforting squeeze and she withdraws completely.

Keith looks up again, finally focusing on his surroundings, to find everyone in the room giving him a funny look. Bannok's finger is frozen in his nose. Flarking assholes.

* * *

"Where's the dropoff point again, Nym?" Rolo calls back.

She taps an area on the map. "Fifty-third quadrant, south side, the big landing pad." They circle around and prepare to land and disembark.

The handoff goes well. It’s all business as usual, really; Rolo finishes the deal, Nyma rolls the cargo. But just as she finishes unloading, and Rolo’s turned back to her, their contact interrupts.

“Wait,” the trader calls back, “I want to speak to the lady.”

Rolo glances at Nyma, assessing, and she raises a brow and shrugs. He flashes a sign, ‘be careful, aggressive’ and she nods. She stalks over to the guy and folds her arms.

He bridges the gap between them in two clunking steps until he’s basically in her face.

"I've got a bigger assignment for you," the trader's breath is outright rancid. It takes everything Nyma has not to lean away. "Big Galra shipment coming into the outpost on Beryll, there's something in there I want that could easily be worth half a million GAC."

Beezer whirs in consternation. Nyma agrees. "Taking from the Galra? That's not just risky, it's a death sentence."

The trader scoffs. "Trying to tell me that the two of you haven't, eh, 'misappropriated' Galra goods before? That's a laugh."

"Nothing worth half a million GAC, that's for sure."

The guy looks up, scanning the sky like he's looking for listeners out here in the wide open landing pad, and then leans in close. Nyma tries very, very hard not to let her face crumple in disgust. "You do this for me, I got something for you. Word is, you've been looking for anything that can get you your sister."

At his last words, as the final syllable of _sister_ clicks in her brain _,_ Nyma's rage skyrockets. Pent-up frustration sparking like electric shocks, she grabs the front of his jacket and spins, slamming him into the ground. One knee goes right to his nuts. She hisses in his face. Rolo is shouting in the background, but she's not listening.

The trader raises his arms and widens his eyes. "Not on me. C'mon, I know better."

She narrows her eyes at his cruiser.

"Naw, not there either. Got a couple of pals, stashed the drive away with them. You do this one little thing for me, and seventy percent and that tiny little drive are all yours."

"How much is on it?" There's no way Nyma is risking her life, or Rolo's life, over something that won't even find her her sister.

"Enough," the trader assures her. "Now, are we doing this or what?" He holds out his palm, in it is the chipcard with all the details on his order.

She leans forward, pushing her weight sharply down on the scumbag's junk, the other hand pressing down dangerously close to the base of his species' trachea. "If this turns out to be a lie, there is nowhere in the universe you can hide," she assures him. Smoothly, calmly, she rolls to her feet and plucks the card out of his hand.

Rolo is sticking another pick in his teeth, rolling it with his tongue. Trying to be cool, like he wasn't just freaking out over her nearly killing a guy. He raises a brow.

"Want to go pull off the biggest heist of our career?" Nyma asks.

* * *

"Yeah!" The team yells as one for the fifth time. No dice. No Voltron.

Their bond needs a lot of work before they can form a giant robot outside of the heat of battle, apparently.

 _What is going on here?_ Shay asks with some amusement.

Hunk jumps in his seat, then settles down with a wide grin. He reaches over and punches a few buttons on the dash. Once his audio and video feed are out, "Shay!" He cheers. "What's the haps?"

He's glad that he wasn't just going crazy last night. It could all have been an exhaustion-induced dream after their huge day, but she's here which means she's real. Which means he's psychically connected to an alien! Which, huh.

 _I found more of us!_ She replies excitedly. _I think we are many. I will keep trying today._

"Huh," he says. More aliens in his head. He'd be running around screaming at the thought, but the thing is, he knows Shay. Feels everything she does. And that's why he's not scared anymore, or freaked out, or shouting about aliens in his brain. Because all of this feels so natural, like Shay's always been there. If all of this bond stuff is like that, then it's not scary at all. It feels like coming home.

While he's thinking that, she's leaning over and poking at the controls without actually touching anything. "What is all of this?" She asks. Oh yeah, she was curious about the Lion!

 _I'm a Paladin of Voltron, apparently,_ Hunk explains. _You know, that giant robot? Defender of the universe, that kind of thing? Yeah, we're in the Yellow Lion. Which turns into a leg, I guess?_ He pushes a couple of memories her way, of last night's battle and Voltron.

Shay physically flinches at the violence she experiences secondhand. But then she opens Hunk's eyes wide and takes in her surroundings in better detail. Hunk watches as she hesitantly wraps his fingers around the steering columns. A deep rumbling sounds around them, and from the spot in the very back of his mind where the Lion curls up, there is a flash of acceptance. _Looks like Yellow likes you,_ he observes with warmth.

"I felt it too," she says wonderingly, and a soft smile grows on Hunk's face. "I cannot believe you are piloting her. Voltron is nothing more than a legend among my people. Just to be here, I can't believe-"

"Hunk?" Lance's voice comes in over the speakers. "You with us, buddy?"

Hunk slides back into his body’s driver seat and pokes at the audio controls again. He brings up his camera. "Coming, sorry, just taking a little break to refocus... my... chi, or whatever. No big."

They seem busy, and Hunk needs to focus, so Shay pulls herself away. But, not before sending encouragement Hunk’s way. He can do it. She believes in him.

* * *

Keith is normally out among the stars right now, but this is more important. He's got a bright red sock almost unraveled; whichever Galra on the ship wears bright red socks on his downtime has had four pairs mysteriously go missing since Keith became a drudger. And all of them are now tacked up on his wall.

He grabs a marker and writes, 'bond??' on a notecard in dark bold print, squints up at the infinitely complex design already up there, and changes his mind. He scoots his desk away from the other wall and tacks 'bond??' up there right in the middle. Fresh issue, fresh wall. And he gets a card of his own, 'keithrak', with a line of red spiraling away from it.

The next card gets 'jerk voice,' with 'bodysnatcher??' underneath it. The red string connects Keith and Jerk and goes back to 'bond??'

He grabs another card and hesitates. _It's Shay,_ the voice offers.

"Oh, good. You're here," he says with the end of the red string in his teeth. 'shay' is the next card up, with a line from Keith to her, and then from her to 'hunk.' "Visited any more people today?"

 _No,_ she says, and he can taste her disappointment. Then she grows a little warm, _well, just Hunk._

"What's he... up to?" Keith says, realizing he knows nothing about normal people small talk.

Her presence perks up and flutters with laughter. _Normal Hunk things. Flying. Becoming more familiar with his companions. He is also curious about the bond._

He grabs the card for Hunk, turns it over, and fastidiously scribbles it all down. "Okay, anything else?"

 _No,_ she says. _What are you doing?_

"This is my wall," he says, and he tags the card back up and steps back. "It's not much yet, but I find that laying things out helps me think. See?" He walks over to his old wall and runs a finger over some red thread in the upper left corner. "Here, I was looking at the likelihood that certain supervisors of mine actually belonged to the resistance. This," he points, "is where I discounted each of them because they couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag, deception would be lost on them - but what if they were faking? I need to do some more digging."

"And here," he points at the bottom center of the wall, "I'm fairly sure that the men's room two floors up is haunted. I can't get the materials to build a spectral detector, but-"

He feels Shay gently push his body down into a crouch. It's a request, more than anything else, but he lets her. She runs his fingers over the string, eyes tracing all the carefully-penned cards. He can feel the way she's thinking, trying to follow through the winding inner workings of his brain. It's, well, it's weird. He's never shared this wall with anyone. And she's looking at it with such deliberate care, like she honestly gives a d'ast what he thinks.

One side of his mouth curls up when she gets to a particular card. "Zarkon is actually a title used by a series of clones grown in a lab?" She asks.

Keith shrugs. _It's possible._

She laughs. It sounds and feels so weird coming from his own body. The last time he had reason to was- quiznak, he can't even remember. "I like it. I like you. You don't take anything for granted."

 _Thank you,_ he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. _Do you have anything else for my wall about the bond?_

Together they add three new cards with scattered thoughts. When Keith steps back, he can see the bare bones starting to form.

* * *

 When Keith wakes up the next morning, his 'bond??' wall is liberally covered in notes in a language he can't read and several of his blue and his white socks have been unraveled and strung up. He sits up and stares. "Quiznak," he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random reason to watch Sense8: trans representation. One of the main characters is a trans hacker on the run, played by an absolutely brilliant trans actress! Also, The Wachowskis (trans sisters who wrote & directed the Matrix) write and direct the show along with J. Michael Straczynski.

**Author's Note:**

> Netflix set Sense8 up to fail. It's up to the fans to create new viewers, on the remote possibility that we can save it. That is the spirit from which this came - to share the wonder and happiness I feel for Sense8, to try and reach out to new people. To hope that you might be interested in checking out Sense8 if this leaves you wanting more. (Voltron s3 was great too).
> 
> If this story inspires anyone to check out Sense8, I highly encourage you to write about it in the comments! The hope that I can do something productive to support the show is one of the driving forces of my writing, and I will be inspired and encouraged to work faster. :)


End file.
